


Short Hair

by somekindofseizure



Series: WTID Supplemental Reading [20]
Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: Anonymous asked: please write scully getting so flustered by short haired stellaI also got one about hickeys so...





	Short Hair

They’ve barely cleared the threshold of the hotel hallway when it starts. The door is slamming and Scully’s tripping over her suitcase, pulling at Stella’s black sweater like a kitten just learning to use her claws. Stella puts her hands up and lets Scully tear it overhead and Scully watches the new way her hair falls, just to her ears, just to her cheekbones, just over her nose before she brushes it back with two careless fingers. It takes much less effort than before to get it out of her face.

Stella laughs and it’s practically a giggle, wide-lipped and loose shouldered, and Scully imagines she is much lighter than the loss of six inches of hair can have made her. There was no footsy in the restaurant, no nibbling in the elevator. She’s done nothing but spit fire and rant about her colleagues since Scully got to town. She is seemingly bewildered by the concept of anyone being ready to fuck before she’s even considered it, but this is a concept she’s willing to be bewildered by.

“What the fuck is this?” Stella asks, no doubt recalling that for the entirety of dinner, she sat straightbacked as a doorjamb in the hotel restaurant, leaning forward over her food like she might launch into the air the next time she proclaimed someone a fucking idiot for ruining her case. So busy was she wiping oil and vinegar from her chin with her knuckles, growling as she tore open a steak and stabbed at obligatory side salads, spinning with frustration and annoyance, that she failed to notice how she was being looked at. And not just by Scully.

“People presume we’re together with your hair like this,” Scully says and it’s the closest thing she’ll give to an answer besides the full-lipped kiss she also offers. She tastes like onions and wine, and she’s curious and compliant as Scully puts her hands on either side of her waist, pinkies resting on the waistband of Stella’s pants and thumbs tracing the fine indentations of hard-won abdominal definition. Smooth and soft at the front, rounded at the edges, and then up a little higher, soft and round at the front and sharp at the sides. There is so much more skin. So much less and so much more of her at the same time.

“People are idiots,” Stella says but now she’s leaning back just a little, waiting to see how far Scully will come for her. And Stella is right. Two weeks ago, none of those people would have guessed it even on the third try – sisters? Cousins? Friends? And now, because of a haircut… But still:

“No, I like it,” Scully says and laughs along with her friend – no, her girlfriend – and she slips her tongue into the mouth of said girlfriend.

“Suddenly you want people to know?” Stella asks, dipping her eyes, resting her hands on Scully’s shoulders without applying pressure. Scully’s not in the mood for discourse and Stella cedes the sake of argument to no matter other than the one presently at hand.

Now Stella leans in, steps closer and out of her boots with a bit of effort, kicks them to the side. The edges of her bare feet touch Scully’s, the sweep of heavy London-late-winter-knit brushing Scully’s insteps. A moment of eye contact as her neatly trimmed fingernails dust both Scully’s cheekbones. 

Scully’s eyes drift from the golden halo of hair between the webbing of her fingers down to Stella’s breasts, perfect and round as ever in structured black burn-out lace over pink and she wonders how many of the assumptions downstairs would have been upset by the finding of expensive lingerie under that short hair and swagger.

Stella notes something she recognizes in Scully’s eyes and holds up her hands like little white flags beside her face. Scully smiles slow, takes her with one arm around the waist and the other over the scratchy embroidered cup of her bra, fingertips pedaling up her cleavage to her neck.

She ruffles Stella’s hair from ear to crown, bends her head to one shoulder to expose a length of skin she feels like she’s somehow never seen: pale and fresh, faintly lined. She kisses Stella softly behind the ear, then opens her mouth, presses the middle of her tongue against Stella’s skin, rubs it rough, wetting her neck like a woodwind reed. She slides her lips down the tendon toward her collarbone, stops halfway down.

Stella’s fingers creep up under the lip of Scully’s shirt, tackle her fly and sneak down the front of her jeans. She won’t miss finding out what marking territory does to a woman. Scully spreads her legs a little, idles her lips at Stella’s jugular until she feels the finger slip up inside her, and then sucks Stella’s skin against her teeth, pulls at it with her breath and swallows sweat and perfume until she feels blood vessels give. Stella’s head goes slack as Scully tugs the base of her hair.

“Well, that’s going to show,” Stella whispers as Scully tickles her cool scalp with a French manicure and seals the newly-made bruise with a light kiss.

“Good,” Scully says.

Stella’s laugh is a devilish, feral croak as she looks up and buries Scully’s face in the bend of her neck, a witch or wizard who’s just watched her best pupil turn her first man into a frog. The finger inside Scully reanimates. Her other hand plays with Scully’s hair between her shoulder blades, twists it like a ribbon around her wrist.

She says something she’s said plenty of times before, but she seems to enjoy saying it a little more tonight.

“Okay. I’m going to fuck you now.”


End file.
